Taken, Not Finished
by Charlene Ryder
Summary: They broke into the facility. They freed the mutants they found. They left them behind in the escape. The life of another child, forever changed by scientists and wings, as she learns by herself to fly, survive, and find the ones who let her out.
1. Chapter 1

The room was empty. And dim. And too clean.

I curled into a tight ball in the corner, huddling against the cold walls and tile. I was afraid. I wanted to go home. This was a bad place. These were bad people. I didn't know what to do. They were adults, too, and seemed to think what they were doing was right.

Maybe they were more doctors. I'd seen lots of doctors ever since I'd gotten sick. I never understood what they were doing, but Mommy always said they would make me feel better.

"_Don't worry sweetheart, they're going to help you. The nice men are going to make you feel all better. Then we can go home and you can play with your new dollhouse from grandma, okay sweetie?" _

I pictured the bright little house, with its peaked roofs and windows that opened and fish tank with _real_ water in it. It was the best birthday present I'd ever received. I was positive that turning four was the best thing that would ever happen to me.

But where was Mommy now? And Daddy? I'd been in this room for a long, long time and they hadn't come to see me. Only doctors. Because I had…leo..leokeemia…That's what they told Mommy. That's what they told me. I was sick. I needed doctors.

I didn't like what they did to me. Usually it was something they called 'taking samples'. I didn't know what a sample was, only that it meant they were going to poke me with something, or wipe something down my throat, or fasten something tight on my arm, or some other unpleasant thing that generally led to my discomfort. I'd tell them it hurt, and they would murmur a quick sorry and promise it would be over in a minute, then leave the room once they had what they needed.

They never said anything mean and they didn't hit me. I was still afraid of them. They were strange, not like the other doctors.

I wondered where I was. All I could remember was going to sleep in a room at the hospital and waking up on the floor in this strange place. This wasn't like any of the other rooms I'd been in. There was no furniture, no bed, no soft blanket and no toys. The doctors wouldn't answer my questions.

"Where's Mommy?"

Where's Daddy?"

"Where am I?"

"Who are you?"

"Can I go home?"

"What are you doing?"

That last one told me that these were not nice people – at the other hospitals, the doctors had always answered my questions. They were always very nice about it. None of that here.

My stomach rumbled. I curled up tighter to hold in the sound. I got to eat once a day, if they remembered. Sometimes they forgot. They had never forgotten at any of the other hospitals.

I shivered. The room wasn't very warm. I wished I could have a blanket. Something comforting in this strange place. The room wasn't that large, but it felt cavernous to me. I wished Mommy and Daddy would come and get me. I didn't feel sick anymore. Maybe I could go home now. Maybe they made the…_leokeemia _go away.

The door opened, letting in bright white light from the other side. I scooted back away from it. As much as I disliked the darkness of my chamber, I had come to fear the opening of the door. That meant the doctors were coming back. That meant they wanted more…samples, that was the word. And samples hurt.

Usually only one person came in. Sometimes it was a woman, but more often it was a man. They were always wearing a white lab coat that brushed the floor when they leaned down and smelled like the cleaner Mommy used in the bathroom. This time there were three of them, two men and a woman in the doorway.

"There she is," said the woman, looking at me. "How are you doing, sweetie?"

"I wanna go home," I said sadly.

"I know you do," the lady said, not unkindly. "I know you do." I knew by now that she was teasing me. They weren't going to take me home. They were just telling me that.

"We're ready," said someone from outside the chamber. I cringed. I did not like the sounds I heard. I did not trust the strangers standing in the doorway.

"Let's get this over with, I have a meeting in twenty minutes," said one of the men.

"Come here, sweetheart, we won't hurt you." The doctor in the front did not tell very convincing lies. I pulled back away from him, eyes wide, as he moved towards me. "Come on, girl, I promise."

"No, that's what you said last time!" I burbled as I tried to keep away from his fingers. "You lied! _You lied!_ Leave me alone!" I didn't want to leave the safety of the room. They were going to do something to me, I just knew it. "I want my mommy! Where is she?"

"She's not coming back," said the man, inching closer. "She doesn't love you anymore."

I choked back a sob. He was lying to me again, and his lies hurt bad. My mom was somewhere, and she would never let them do stuff to me.

Unless…maybe…maybe my mom really _didn't_ love me anymore…maybe that's why she didn't come.

But that couldn't be. Even when the house was falling apart, even when they couldn't pay all the bills, and even when Daddy needed his pills and Mommy wanted the drink that made her crazy…they still loved me.

So where were they?

The man snatched me. I tried to bite him and kick him but my arms and legs were pinned. He had his arm over my mouth so I couldn't scream as I was unwillingly removed from the safety of the dark chamber.


	2. Chapter 2

**2 years later…**

I could never remember anything, and it hurt.

The bars. And the whitecoats. Other than that, nothing. White mist, some of it. Vague emptiness. Holes in my memory. Distortions. Nothing making sense. Things used to make sense, but they didn't anymore. Or maybe they didn't ever.

They did something to me. I never remembered after that.

I don't know what was happening, what they were doing. Somewhere I knew something was wrong. No, the whole thing was wrong. They were wrong. What they were doing was wrong. I was wrong. They'd made me wrong.

Was I wrong? I didn't know anymore.

Every once in a while they came, wanting things from me in their harsh ways. I had no say, no way to resist, and I gradually came to accept that this was the way things were. The bars were mine, all mine, and they would always be mine. I belonged in them. This was where I belonged.

Mommy wasn't coming. Mommy was a thing of the past. Mommy was made up. Mommy was a lie.

Things were on my back. They were growing something on my back.

I couldn't see whatever it was. They came in daily and unlatched my bars, telling me to turn around so they could reach. I didn't want them to, but I didn't want the bars, and they were mine. This was mine as well. This was my purpose.

I always shuddered when they traced their fingers to the spot. One specific spot, right below my shoulder blades. Something would click as they stuck it into my spine. I don't know what it was – I could never see it. All I could ever see was the wall behind my bars, and their harsh shadows cast against it.

Pain is red. Sometimes it's black, but more often it's red. I had deep bruises from hitting the bars as it wracked me. I couldn't moan. They'd punish me if I moaned, saying it upset the others. There were others in the place, but I could never remember any of them.

The pain would rip into my back, rip my back itself. I always screamed in my head, as screaming out loud would have them punishing me all sorts of ways. I'd throw myself against the bars that were mine. I'd rip at them and pant and clutch. I'd gasp in choked sobs as something happened to me. They'd watch for a while, then murmur and leave, pulling the sheet over my cage so no one would see.

The black pain meant the most to me – it meant the hurt would go away for a little while. I'd forget it.

Then I'd wake up, sometime later, and be unable to feel my back. Numb, completely numb. Something was there, but I couldn't see it. I'd twist and turn and rub against the bars, all futilely. I could feel something, but I didn't have enough room to see it.

Then they'd come back to check on me. To do it all again.

This was my purpose in life. If you could even call it life anymore.


	3. Chapter 3

**4 years later…**

They had done something ghastly to me.

The shots in the spine ended. Whatever they'd done, they were done with it. _It,_ not _me._ They found other things. They tried other things. I never remembered most of it.

They'd given me strange muscles. I could feel strange muscles back there, roiling beneath the skin. I still couldn't see; I didn't have enough room to stretch them. The bars kept me back. I could twist to all end trying to get a look; the only thing I'd ever get for my efforts was a pulled neck and more bruises.

I couldn't tell what the whitecoats were doing to me anymore. Everything was blurry, swirling in the mist. I didn't care. That was the way things were. It just was. Like the bars and the white fog. If the fog was in my head then _I _was in my head, because I was in the fog all the time. I lived it. I lived in my head.

Little made sense like it should. The four-year-old child was long gone, lost in the fog. I was here now. And I didn't know what I was anymore. Maybe the child had never existed. Maybe the child was just part of the Mommy fable. Many things were part of the Mommy fable.

I hurt all the time now. My back ached, burning whenever I moved in the slightest. Whatever was back there pulled my skin taught, twisting tendons like rubber until I had to shove a balled fist into my mouth to keep from screaming.

Most of my existence was spent curled in the farthest corner, resigned to whatever they did next. I drifted in and out of the fog. I liked the fog. I could hide in it. I could hide from _them._

_You can't see me if I can't see you…_

I didn't always know when they were coming for me. After all, white coats match white fog. Sometimes they found me and pulled me out of it to give me something. It was sweet, sickly. If I didn't drink it they forced me to, pulling my unresisting jaws apart and tipping it down my throat. It was just easier to take it willingly. Then they'd leave me alone.

Then I'd forget.


	4. Chapter 4

**Open**

I was supposed to be sleeping. They always told me to sleep, I needed it. For the tests. For my purpose.

But they kept me in the fog. I drifted, dreamed, hallucinated…never slept. Never remembered, either. I _couldn't._ Not in the fog.

I shifted into a misty corner, leaning against my sore back in an attempt to find the least painful position. I never tried to get comfortable. There was no such thing, never had been. My body was cramped, my legs permanently numb. The weird muscles in my spine sawed away at my shoulders. I tried not to lie against whatever was back there. I think it was my purpose. My purpose was on my back, and I couldn't see it.

Day, night….these were part of something that didn't exist anymore. It was Lights On, Lights Off in the fog. Lights Off meant it was time to hallucinate, get as far away from my purpose as possible.

The problem was, when I had nightmares they never ended.

If I woke up crying I'd only be punished, or they'd try to collect the tears for some unknown purpose. _My_ unknown purpose. My glorious, painfully obsolete purpose of raging brilliance and hurt spawning from my spine. The purpose I couldn't see.

It wasn't worth it. Nothing was. I held in my tears.

As I lay there, contemplating the bars and the white mist winding around them, my mind began closing off to the merciful delusions. The best I could ever hope for. A moment to myself, away from myself. Open and bright and warm and safe, where nothing hurt and everything was right…

I had just about gone completely into it when a small noise wound its way into me. Little concern. It was just something back in the fog. There were lots of things in the fog. Bars, glass, needles, whitecoats, me, traces of my mind, remnants of my sanity…

Another noise. Something sliding in the fog.

Lights Off. Nothing should be out sliding in the fog at this time.

I reluctantly slid back into dark where I was supposed to be. The warmth and light faded until they were gone.

The fog, I noticed, was fading a little. Maybe that meant _I_ was fading a little…I couldn't remember getting the ucky drink lately. Then again, I could never remember anything.

Somebody said something. Maybe they'd gotten locked in the fog with me. No problem, plenty of room in here. I moved forwards to offer them space in my fog, but my fingers hit the bars. My bars, hard and cold and cruel as always.

There weren't supposed to be whitecoats around after Lights Off. I struggled through the fog, pushing into the back. They'd given no sign of being here. I didn't have time to hide from them, but I still tried. It didn't matter that I'd accepted my purpose - I still hated it.

But what I saw…what I saw wasn't a whitecoat. I didn't know what it was. I mean, I see lots of things incomprehensible things on a skewed basis, but this one seemed to mean something. A purpose? Mine?

I twined my fingers around my bars, peering out through the mist. A face made its way to me. It wasn't something I understood, but I was sluggishly, lethargically intrigued. Been a while since that happened.

_My bars opened_

Nothing came in. No one reached to touch me, grab me, turn me, shove something into me, down me, or make me hurt. That was what was supposed to happen, but it didn't.

There was someone out there, someone I didn't understand. All I knew was _them,_ and this wasn't _them._ _They_ weren't here after Lights Off.

I didn't know what to do. Door open, no one coming in.

Maybe _I_ was supposed to go to _them...._

Someone was looking in on me. Looking in on my world, through my bars, through my mist. Someone unknown. Someone not a whitecoat.

I'd never spoken. Not since I'd been…well, maybe I'd just never spoken at all. I found the only whispered words I could, dragging them from my shattered, warped memory.

"Who are you?" I rasped. "Why are you doing this?"

A faraway voice said "Kids don't belong in cages."

The voice didn't understand. I wasn't a kid. I didn't know what I was anymore, but a kid…never.


	5. Chapter 5

**Escape**

When I crawled out I amazed myself. I didn't know my legs could extend that far from their bent position. Were they supposed to?

After that…well, I don't remember much, actually, and I was getting pretty tired of it. My mind was still half-fogged, but I was making progress. I was beginning to realize that something wasn't right about all this. Did it have to do with my purpose? Something I didn't know about yet?

We ran from the sound of angry voices, all of us, me and the fifty-odd other things of the fog. We ran from _them._ I didn't know what I was doing – I wasn't supposed to be running. I wasn't even supposed to be out of my bars.

Through a lab. Out a door. Into a dark hallway, up a bunch of stairs. There was a lot of shouting, words I only half understood. Something about getting out.

They didn't understand. There was no way out. Not when your world's a fog and _they _always know where to find you.

A strong smell hit my nose and I ran harder, blindly. I was going to be punished so bad if _they_ caught me. What was I doing? Where did I think I was going? There was no where to go. There never was.

Someone knocked into me and I hit a gritty wall, stumbling up the steps. Twice. My head swirled. I clung to the stone, trying not to fall and be trampled. Somebody scraped into the purpose on my back. My spine burst into renewed agony, reddening my fog to gory shades.

I dared to whimper. I wanted back in my cage, I wanted _them,_ I wanted _them. They_ hurt me, but not _this_ bad. My shoulders wrenched back, completely out of my control. I bit my lip bloody.

_Get a hold of yourself, they'll hurt you worse than this if they catch you. They'll find a way. They always do. _

My vision cleared. Minimally. Whirling in the half-mist and spine flaming away at the nerves, I shoved myself back out into the streaming tide of others. Hurt, hurt, it all came down to being hurt. Type, duration, consistency.

Everyone had a purpose. We were all running from them.

After the steps a door was shoved open and we came to a place, less dark, more open and damp. I could see just enough not to recognize it. This had never been part of my fog before. The hot, fetid air washed over me, so different from the nice, cool air in my nice, safe bars.

"Where are we?" Again, this talking thing…how long had it been since I'd done it? Ever?

"Sewer system under a big city," said the voice. Female, the voice was female. "On our way out to fresh air and sunlight."

Mommy fable. They were from the Mommy fable. At last, I figured it all out. What a way to go. I was finally dying. Took them long enough to find me. Maybe if I'd spent less time hiding…

"But not just yet," a voice hissed from behind. "First we need to chat, Maximum. You and I. For old times' sake."

I peered at the new voice, sickened by dread. I'd heard that voice. I'd heard that voice in the fog before. That voice helped with my purpose, with the shots in the back. That voice grabbed my bars and abused them, rattled them so hard my teeth chattered.

That voice was the reason I nightmared so often, to such an extent.

_Back in my cage, back in my bars, please, back in my safe, safe bars where I belong, just let me go back, let me go back…_

I was terrified because I knew.

That voice was laughing death.


	6. Chapter 6

**Running**

Something alive was shoved into my arms. I couldn't see it. It squirmed against me, making strange noises. I'd never actually held something else from the fog. How strange.

I didn't have a clue what a Maximum was, but right now that voice was going for it, not me. That voice was distracted. I ran, pelting along with the others in the steadily-clearing fog.

Maybe the Maximum was the female voice. Maybe the Maximum was friends with that voice that shoved needles into me. Maybe the Maximum was in league with it, and _they_ were all just messing with me.

Maybe I wasn't going to let _them_ catch me.

A pair of hands eased the thing from my arms. I heard talking, low and angry, then scuffling back behind in the tunnel. Something cracked against stone. Someone yelled. I winced, trying to block out the sound. Yelling was bad. They were going to get punished for it.

On my left was a river of…something. Something gross. I didn't know what it was, but it wasn't something I wanted to fall into. I hugged the wall as I fled, ignoring the shouts, ignoring the moans and the cries of the others, ignoring the pain shredding my back into withered strips. Pain. I'd never felt it like this. If I had to go much farther I was going to collapse for the sheer volume of it.

Then _they_'d catch me and take me back where I belonged. Back to my bars and thick fog and the hurting in the spine.

I didn't want to belong. Not anymore.

I heard a whooshing noise to the side, fanning hot air over me. I glanced…

There was more than one, and they were beautiful.

There was really no other word for it. When one of them soared past on my right, white wings shining in the dark, I could only see how stunning angels truly were. I followed them, wherever they were going. Beautiful.

Maybe there really was a way out after all. Maybe the fog crowding the edge of my vision had an edge itself. Maybe I could fall off that edge. Maybe I could _get out._

Maybe they'd already been out. Maybe they knew how to get there.

Another one, bigger than the first, soared past me, fast and controlled in the enclosed space. Big and dirty and powerful. Getting us out. The speckled wingtips brushed the walls of the tunnel as it curved a bend. Leading us. Guiding me.

The Maximum?

A final yell echoed from behind, hauntingly vivid, getting into my bones in a way I'd never forget.

"You killed your own _brother!"_

No clue what it meant. Not stopping to ask. I ran.


	7. Chapter 7

**Somewhere**

When I hit the open air I knew I was dead. Nothing, ever, had smelled this naturally clean, not even in the Mommy fable. Heaven smelled a whole lot better than life.

Then heaven faded, and I was back into nitty-gritty existence. The others streamed around me, breaking in different directions, running, fleeing if they could. My back felt like it was going to tear in two flaming chunks any minute now. I couldn't see the Maximum anymore. I didn't know where it went. I couldn't see any of the winged ones. It was like they had vanished back to the dimension they'd come from.

I found myself alone in a strange place, where it was dark and noisy and hot. Machines or something rolled past somewhere nearby, and I could barely even see them. Their lights scared me.

Struggling through the fog, I managed to find a bush and crawl under it, where I was violently sick. Then I rested. Or passed out, I'm still not sure which. While I was in the darkness I dreamed I was back in my bars. For once it wasn't a nightmare. It was a relief. A cold, solid, enclosed reassurance that things would go on, painful as they were. My purpose continued, dead-ending my long-broken hope. This was my life. I had my purpose. So be it.

I woke up cold and shivering during Lights On. My floor felt spongy and I was in a stretched position. My cage wasn't _that_ big. What was going-

WHEN I OPENED MY EYES THE FOG WAS GONE!!!

Where was it? Where was my world?! I freaked out, flipping over and getting scratched by all these green prickly things surrounding me. There were sounds I didn't know, smells I didn't know. I was wet with dew. The light was too bright, too direct. When I looked up my stomach flipped - there was no roof overhead. There were these white fluffy-looking blobs and this blinding circle I couldn't look right at. I closed my eyes against it.

Where was I? What happened?

With the absence of the fog the strangest thing happened – I remembered.

I'd been sick the night before. There was the sick on the ground, near my foot, a little reminder. My sharp vision picked up traces of things outside the bush. A world. Not my world, but a world nonetheless.

A world I'd escaped into. I'd never known there was more than one. Or maybe I was dead, but I didn't think so anymore. It seemed more and more like I would know if I were dead. I'd never been dead before, but I got to feeling this wasn't it.

Which meant I was alive. Which meant I was still in a strange world. Which meant my chances for remaining alive were negotiable.

Someone was walking near my bush, out in that other world. I held very still, not even breathing, not even groaning when my back twinged painfully. I'd been trained not to groan.

They passed without knowing I was there. I shifted once they were gone, trying to make more room and ignoring the grumbling in the pit of my stomach. I was used to being hungry. _They_ almost never fed me because that would mess with the results they wanted.

I stretched my mind, now vacant of the fog, thinking clear thoughts I'd never been able to connect before. It was like waking up from a dream and establishing what's still real.

I was here. I was out. I didn't know where 'here' was or how long I could remain 'out', but I did know one thing.

I knew what had been wrong before.

Those were bad, bad people.


	8. Chapter 8

**A Day**

Something drifted into my bush, smelling wonderful. My stomach really, really wanted me to go find it and make an offering. However, I was a hard-core supporter of life. Particularly mine.

I waited for it to get dark. My old world had revolved around Lights On, Lights Off. Maybe this one did too. Even though I didn't understand most of where I was and what was going on, something told me I shouldn't be seen. Not yet. It'd be safer to be out at Lights Off.

I never realized how much I could think. It was a nice feeling, now that I wasn't _drugged._ That must have been what they did to me. The fog wasn't mine, it was theirs'. Their stupid fog in my head. Their stupid fog helping with my purpose. I came to realize that they'd probably put me back in the fog if they found me.

Remembering things was good. I didn't want to go back where I didn't know anything.

They were looking for me. Twice I heard that voice that used to torment me in my bars. Once it was far off, near the streets, heading away, speaking into some kind of device. The second time it was closer, talking with others. I didn't dare look through the shrubbery. I focused on not-existing as much as physically possible. They had a dog. I could hear it snuffling though some nearby foliage. It would smell me. Surely it would smell me…I braced to be found, cringing as my back flared up again…

After a while I heard them move gradually away. My heart went back to its normal rate.

I spent the whole Lights On period in that bush. It took a while, but I didn't really mind. I learned things by watching through the leaves and listening to the people walking by. This was some kind of park. There were people in it, and trees. Lots of trees. Normal people and normal trees. I'd never seen either so closely. The things on the roads were called 'cars'. I couldn't believe how fast they went. Much of my time went to watching them zip by. I imagine it would hurt to get hit by one.

My unseen purpose hurt on and off, but it was getting better. The strange muscles in my back weren't so cramped outside the bars. I shuddered, wondering how I could have ever liked the cage. I must have been really doped up.

The sound of laughing kids raced past my hiding spot. I think they were chasing something. Normal kids. Not what I was. Whatever I was.

Something landed in the bush above, scaring me. I looked up, expecting to see one of _their_ faces peering down at me, reaching to grab me and take me back…

It was an animal. A…bird. That was the word, I think. It looked down at me and made this cooing noise, twisting its head to fit through the branches.

I stared up at it. I'd never been this close to an animal before. I didn't really appreciate it when it pooped on my arm, but that was okay. I could deal. I'd had way worse, as I was beginning to learn. The bird jumped around, rustling the foliage. I held stock still, hoping no one would notice. Did birds normally go in bushes, or just if people were hiding in them?

It fluttered its feathered wings, finally settling onto a selected branch where it could both rest and keep an eye on me.

"I won't hurt you," I whispered. Words still sounded strange coming out of my mouth. "Are you hiding too?" It just cooed and rubbed its soft gray head on a stubby knot.

I reached up to touch it. It pecked my finger, but I didn't mind. Any sane animal would do that to someone who might hurt it.

I tried again, more slowly. This time it let me, extending its soft feathered neck so I could stroke it from head to tail. It was very pretty. Eventually it closed its beady eye and went to sleep with its head under its wing.

I just kept stroking it and stroking it.


	9. Chapter 9

**Discovery**

I watched for the winged ones. No sign of them. No sign of the Maximum. The bad people, that voice, were out looking for me – maybe the winged ones were, too.

Or maybe not. I didn't see them all day. Maybe they were gone.

The sky finally faded to Lights Off. Strange, out here. No sudden changes. Everything was gradual. The bird finally flew off, leaving behind a few downy bits of fluff. I was sad to see it go. I was alone again.

Just as I hoped, the people left the park when it got dark. Orange lights along the street flashed on, throwing maroon shadows through the trees. My stomach just wouldn't be quiet, but I couldn't tell if it was hunger or nerves. Sitting still was something I was used to – and it was driving me nuts.

I finally decided it was safe enough. I crawled out of the bush, pulling twigs out of my dirty, tangled hair. I couldn't say much about my clothes. They were loose, old, filthy. I couldn't ever remember putting them on. _They_ must have put them on me. I shivered, stretching, getting the circulation back in my butt. I was surrounded by foliage. Lots of trees and brush, all around. The cars continued down the road a ways away, headlights skimming along the pavement. My back throbbed as the knotted muscles unwound.

Right then I felt really, _really_ weird. Off-balance. Too big or something. Those strange muscles in my back didn't hurt as much as they used to. I twisted around, wondering why.

_And saw something that wasn't a part of me. _

Wings. I had _wings._

Even in the fog, even in the cage, even in the pit-trap of delirium they'd kept me in, I knew, I _knew,_ that those weren't something I started with.

This was what they'd done to me. The shots in the back, the icky sweet stuff, all those other little things. This was my purpose. _Wings._ Wings like the bird in the bush. Except bigger. Me-sized.

Wow. _Wow._ I turned around and around, trying to see them better. I could feel the muscles corded in my shoulders, their nerves running right down into my spine. I could catch the size of them just from their drag in the air. They must have been at least ten feet wide. They had large feathers, as dirty and rumpled as the rest of me. Mostly from spending life crammed behind bars.

Too. Weird. Could I fly? Could I fly liked the winged ones who'd gotten me out?

Sucking in a breath of air, I tried to flap them. The muscles screamed, but I didn't. I was conditioned not to. I settled for gasping a few times and deciding _no, I can't, don't do that again. _My wings protested every bit of effort I put into moving them. Getting off the ground wasn't going to happen any time soon.

A branch snapped a distance away, off in the dark.

I tensed, wanting to crawl back into my bush. Wings. If _they_ were still looking for me, that would be a definite giveaway. The normal people would probably notice, too. I'd have to keep them out of sight.

_They_ had given me wings – now they wanted them back.

I pulled them in close to me, trying to hide them.

No. Freaking. Way.


	10. Chapter 10

**A Walk In The Park**

After ten minutes of stumbling around, pushing through foliage and gracelessly tripping over every available thing that got near my feet, I finally located something I could use.

Besides a new set of balance, I mean, because the feeling of having something (like, say, _wings_) protruding from your back pulls everything off-kilter. I guess you could say I was unstable. Had I ever been rock-solid in the mental department? I doubt it, and even if I had been I wasn't now. Not after what _they_'d done.

My mind was churning. I heard things in the dark, things my chemically-warped imagination kept connecting in pretty hideous ways, so that by the time I pelted out of the forest and across a sidewalk I was about ready to blow a gasket.

Caged experiment with a purpose to mutant on the run. I was getting whiplash from all the action.

Heaving a breath, I skittered behind a thick tree, pressing myself up against it. It was so open out here. Room to walk, something I'd never been able to try. Room to run. Room to be seen. Room to be captured and returned to where I was _supposed_ to be. I stared back into the forest, gut aching with dread. The question was, imagined or real?

A sliver of soft orange light fell over the sidewalk and into the undergrowth I'd just torn through. I watched the plants, biting my lip. The brush settled and was still. Another minute: nothing. Not even a breeze stirred the leaves. Safe. No one back there.

The whole place was dark and mostly still. The sound of cars rumbling past somewhere nearby made it impossible to hear if anyone was following me. I looked around nervously, keeping my wings drawn in tight. The muscles complained, but they'd be complaining a lot more if we were seen. I did my best to ignore them. They'd get over it.

_Wings._ Didn't think _I_ was going to get over it. My mind kept having these little explosions every time I thought about it, every time I registered the brush of feathers against my skin, the muscles controlling them. What kind of twisted people could _do_ such a thing, let alone _would…?_

Someone had left a lime-green hoodie on a park bench. It was the most vibrant shade I'd ever seen. The thing practically glowed in the dark.

No one was in sight. I made quick debate, shaking with tension and fatigue. I don't know… big wings, lime-green hoodie, big wings, lime-green hoodie…It was basically down to 'stand out' or 'stand out a lot more'.

I decided to go with 'not as bluntly obvious' and pulled it on. I didn't know how long it had been lying there. Long enough to develop a sour smell that made me want to retch. There was something crusty caked on the sleeve, but I didn't dwell on it. I'd seen way, way worse. Take the consistency of my hair, for instance.

The instant the hoodie was in place and tugged down I got really, _really_ claustrophobic. Like, massively so. I wanted to pull that thing off and fling it as far as I could. My wings reflexively strained in panic at the material, hurting me and themselves. It was a terribly restrained feeling. Almost like being back in the bars. Like a premonition…

I clenched a fist. _Get a grip. You're out now. Stay out. Stay focused, even if it's something you've never done before._

Well, considering I'd never really done anything before, this was a really open view to have. I sucked in a breath, pulled my wings in until the muscles were about ready to snap with the pain, and strode towards the edge of the park, resigned to the fact that I might as well be walking right back into my cage.


	11. Chapter 11

**Hungry**

You know what growing up in a cage does to you?

Well, for one, it makes you deathly afraid of just about everything. It makes every shadow deeper, every light dimmer. You can't take a step without worrying about one thing or another, whether it be that sign on the corner or that car passing a little too close to the sidewalk or that man over in the doorway of that shop, watching you walk past with a strangely unsettling expression.

For another, you're easily amazed.

I think ordinary things were blasting away at my mind. _Ping, ping, ping_ as I walked down that first street. Huge buildings. Huge vehicles. Huge signs with huge lights. A little paper cup on the ground.

Everything wanted me to look at it. At first I thought it was all spectacular. I'd never seen anything like this world before. There's a tremendous lack of stuff to see when your mind is trapped in a dish of white fog. Now that it was gone, I learned what I'd been missing: everything. Cracks in the pavement. Traffic lights. More trees. These things with two wheels that people rode. Phone booths. Bus stops. Little machines that spit green bills into waiting hands. That guy's bright orange hair. Ash trays. All of it completely _amazing._ If I hadn't been so completely unnerved by (_ahem_ – cough, cough, my _wings_) and the fact that any of these people could be looking for me, I would have enjoyed it.

Tons of people on the streets, walking, running, talking into phones. Maybe Lights Off didn't mean anything to them. Maybe they didn't have to go back in their cages when the lights went out. Or maybe they just didn't notice. With all the bright lights everywhere, it _was_ hard to tell it was supposed to be dark…

On the plus side, nobody seemed to notice me much. None of them stared or screamed or tapped me on the shoulder to inform me that I had big honking _wings _sprouting from my back. Guess I wasn't doing too bad. I pulled the radioactive hoodie closer, wincing at its smell. Not that I really smelled any better myself.

A huge, huge assortment of carts and stands, selling food that smelled like everything I'd never smelled before. Everything _good._ I walked until I was ready to drop right on my face and die of hunger right there. I needed something to eat. _Now._ Knees shaking, I sat down on the bench. _Okay, okay, focus. You're a big girl now. You can figure out how to feed yourself. Don't need _them,_ do you?_

Nope, I didn't. And if I did I'd rather die. Since I'd rather not die I didn't need _them._ Perfect sense.

There were many stands lining the sidewalks, steam rising from some. _Mmmm…_I watched how people did it. If I was gonna blend I needed to know how I should be going about it.

It seemed simple enough. Every time I saw them hand over some of the flat green bills and the person by the cart would hand them food. Maybe it was a trade. Green bills for a full stomach. Green bills come from those little machines sitting around every corner. Bingo. I was understanding this stuff.

I found one of the machines. It sat there blankly, little screen surrounded by buttons. No clue how to use it, but the lady before me had gotten some green bills so I knew it was in working order. I talked to it, telling it I was hungry and would it mind giving me enough to buy something?

No response.

It doesn't have to be anything big. Just enough that my stomach will quit eating itself.

The screen glowed mutely.

Okay, something really small. The smallest piece of food I can find.

Nothing.

Please? I'm really _really_ hungry. I can't remember the last time I ate anything. Probably something _they_ gave me. I explained all about the lab and how I needed this so I could eat so I could stay ahead of _them._ I told it all about how this was my first time out and I promised I'd learn soon.

The machine didn't spit out any green bills. I _knew _it had them. It'd given some to that lady. I promised it I'd pay it back as soon as I could. Right away. Right after I got something to eat.

When I glanced back the stranger waiting behind me was giving me a funny look. I stared at the ground and moved away quickly.

So maybe this was going to be harder than I thought…


	12. Chapter 12

**That Voice**

There had to be a trick to feeding yourself that I was obviously missing. Get green bills, trade them in, get food, eat it. I saw this over and over again, no matter where I went. The aromatizing smell of everything edible had me in this daze; I wandered from place to place, following every new hint of something to eat located somewhere out of reach. My wings were shaking, I was shaking, my stomach was shaking.

I came to the point where I was ready to trade my freedom for something to put inside the aching hunger.

Okay, so maybe not. But don't ask me _then,_ I would have said 'yes, yes, oh _man_ yes' and walked right back into my cage with my mouth open like the foolish freaky little mutant thing I was. _Hungry_ freaky little mutant thing. I think the fog did something to repress my hunger normally, because I know _they_ never fed me on any regular schedule. So I should have been used to this. I should have been used to starving my guts out.

I wasn't. I wasn't used to feeling anything.

After walking around for ages I sat down on a dirty bench, completely weak and light-headed. I'd been walking for_ever_ and there was nothing to be eaten. I would have stooped and licked spilled _grease_ off the ground if there had been any.

A sigh trickled up my throat. Maybe I really did need _them._

Shoot, I couldn't believe I was actually _thinking_ that, sitting there, staring at all the city sights, city lights. I was _so hungry. _It was doing things to me. I pressed my face into my palms, resisting the urge to chew them off. Out of the cage only to starve to death on the street. My legs ached, my belly ached, my wings ached, my mind ached.

I stared through my fingers at the cracks in the pavement, feeling my stomach roiling and my mind hardening. _Not_ going back to _them._ I was_ not_ going back to _them_ just because I hurt. I was _not_ going back to _them_ just so they could do it all again. I could hurt by _myself,_ thank you very much. I hurt in the bars and I hurt out here. I think the world just plain hurt in general.

Work it out, shrug it off. Keep going. My body wanted to keep going. I wanted to keep going. I just couldn't make myself get up, that's all.

So what now?

"I don't _care _what they didn't find – tell them to search the area again! That's an order!"

_That voice._ Gravelly and low, like it was being dragged over broken glass.

My hunger was gone, replaced with complete and total fear. I shoved myself off the bench and launched myself down a dark alleyway, impossibly moving through my weakness _to get away from it._

_How did they find me? How did that voice _find_ me?_ After tripping over bags of putrid trash I managed to scramble behind something big and sturdy, pressing myself against its dirty metal side. Hidden? Or had that voice seen me? How long did I have until it came for me? How long did I have left to live?

That voice always came with bad things. Bad thing were going to happen. I cringed, waiting for them. Traffic moved past out in the light. No one entered the alley after me. I peered around the metal corner of the object, trying not to fall over.

That voice. Looking for me. The same one that had fought the Maximum, the same one that had been _killed…_

…_wasn't dead. _Because I'd just heard it.

And you don't hear dead things unless you're _dead,_ right?


	13. Chapter 13

**Death Tension **

A shadowy figure stood out on the sidewalk, talking into something. He sat on the bench right where I'd been sitting _seconds_ before.

"Get another team on it," he snapped. "I want them found! _Now!"_ He jammed the phone into his pocket and looked around, like he could sense that I was nearby. Then the light hit his face, and I saw him clearly for the first time. I quickly ducked back.

That voice. Was scary. The person _with_ that voice. Was scari_er_.

I peered out again, trying to keep my face flat against the corroded metal of my hidey space. The owner of that voice had a deep, ravaged face, like the skin had been worn out from moving. His entire body was hulkingly feral with corded muscles. Strong, fast, rippling just beneath his skin in such a way that you expected him to turn and rip your throat out. He set his sharp teeth like he was thinking of doing so as his eyes roved the street, scanning for what he was looking for, what he was sent after. Predator's eyes.

Prey, prey, another thing to add to my list. Mutant, runaway, prey.

He turned in my direction, looking down the ally with slitted eyes. I held my breath and tried to morph into the metal object I was pressed against. He knew I was there. I could feel it. He'd seen me, or sensed me, and now he was going to find me. That voice was knowing, coming closer, entering the shadows in pursuit. Steps in the alleyway sounded louder than outside on the sidewalk. Much louder. Steel-toed boots kicking refuse out of the way, grinding broken pavement, getting closer…

I shut my eyes; I didn't want to see myself die. I was sure it was going to be messy. Even in the darkness of the alley, it was going to be messy. Not that it would really show when it was over, the place was filthy enough to camouflage an army, but I still didn't want to see it. I don't get into gore.

No sooner did I know I had wings than they were going to kill me for them. It didn't seem fair. Then again, nothing did, and that in itself wasn't fair, and it just made you want to scream as those footsteps got closer because they were doing it in such an _unfair_ way.

One thing was for certain - I was learning. No world is fair. And I was going to exit this one thinking about it.

The steps stopped inches from my hiding space. I waited for him to look around that corner, see me, grab me. He didn't, and that scared me even more. Why was he doing this? Why was the owner of that voice torturing me by simply standing there, just around the corner of the metal object, barely out of sight? I knew he knew I was there. Why didn't he just put me out of my misery? Why couldn't _anyone_ just ever _put me out of my misery_ instead of playing around? Was this whole freaking world a _game_ or something? Was I the prize?

Or was it the slender limbs of flesh and feather folded in behind me that _they_ wanted?

I pulled in my wings so tight they twisted my entire back. _They_ couldn't have them back until I was cold and stiff. _They_ would have to rip them from my dead, bloody body.


	14. Chapter 14

**Found Food**

So…waiting for sudden death takes longer than you might think. I felt like I'd lived and died a couple times and was in the process of doing it all over again when I heard the lid of the metal object I was up against open. Something was tossed inside, then the lid closed with a bang. The feet shuffled away, sounding somewhat less predatory.

I counted to ten (which took a while, I have absolutely no clue how to count, nobody ever bothered to teach me). When I finally reached it I sucked in what little gut I had and snuck a glance around the corner in time to see a man wipe his hands on his apron and push his food cart away. The owner of that voice was nowhere in sight. The bench out by the street was empty.

I slid down the grimy wall, legs knocking together, wings trembling against my back. They hurt when I slid on them. Oh well.

I'd scared myself over _nothing._ Mind tricks. That voice hadn't seen me - my mind just _thought_ he had, and I'd panicked. The random chance of a stranger just _happening_ to be pitching his trash had helped the affect along magnificently. Dark, smelly alley. People looking for me. That voice after me. Paranoia was having a hey day.

Let's hear it for survival skills: I'd been scared of a _food vendor. _I really needed to buck it up – I was never going to survive like this. Especially since I was being eaten alive from the inside out by my stomach.

The smell of something more edible than the oily rags I was sitting on suddenly hit my nose. I clamored up, drawing it in in deep breaths, trying to find where it was coming from. It hadn't been there a minute ago. I _knew_ it hadn't been there a minute ago.

Inside. The. Metal. Object. That's where it was.

Oh man oh man oh man _oh man_, I was _so_ gonna pass out from inhalation of edible fumes. I clawed at the thing, trying to find the opening. Heck, just trying to rip a hole into it. That was what the man had done. He'd dumped old food in the dumpster. Didn't he realize what _valuables_ he was throwing away? What a fool!

It was probably a good thing I hadn't smelled the stuff while he was still actually holding it – I would have totally jumped him for it. Funny how things like morals go down the drain when you're starving.

I finally managed to push the lid up. I wasn't tall enough; I couldn't see, but oh, _man,_ I could _smell._ Greasy slimy day-old lukewarm food. The difference between my survival and extinction was in there – if only I could get to it.

I jumped a few times, almost able to clear the edge. Not quite. The rusty sides were just too tall. I bounced up and down, trying, trying…yes! I hooked my foot over the side. Pulling my leg, I used the leverage to haul myself up and over the edge.

Okay, so maybe not the best plan of action, in retrospect. I lost my hold on the flaking metal and slipped completely inside. I landed on my butt with a squish just as the lid banged shut over me. A wave of odor surrounded me, resettling in the enclosed space.

I sat there for a second, contemplating. In a dumpster. In the dark. With a pair of wings on my back, somebody's old neon-green jacket, a ton of bad people after me…

And a ton of delicious half-smooshed wrap-things squashed underneath me.

Who says heaven is just for dead people?


	15. Chapter 15

**R&R (Rest and Realization)**

A word to the wise about dumpster-diving: make sure you have a way of getting out again.

Yeah. Guess what I didn't have? Yep. You'd think the guys who had bothered to make the _wings_ would also have added a few inches in the height department while they were at it.

Guess not. Even standing on my tip-toes I could barely touch the rim. I might have been able to reach it if my feet would quit sinking into the bags of assorted trash. They wouldn't, and I didn't.

After having gorged myself on every goodie that man had tossed in there, I was feeling delightfully full. And kinda fat. Like, getting out wouldn't work because I suddenly had this little metaphorical belly to drag around. Chubby little mutant, that's me.

I gave it one more shot, jumping as best I could. My fingers just tagged the lid before I came back down, embedding myself in the mess. I freed my feet yet again and sat down, breathing hard.

What a fate. Snared in a dumpster. I was oh so proud of me. The thing was a practically a freakin' _mutant_ trap.

Speaking of which…

I sighed, squirming out of the jacket. So long as it was going to be me and I having some alone-time in here for a while, I might as well get to know myself better. I gently extended my wings, wincing as the muscles spasmed a bit from being cooped up so tight. They brushed the walls, and I barely even had them out. Big, feathery, definitely attached to me. I curled them around myself, running my hand through them, looking at them, absorbing the concept over and over. Wings. _Wings. _Part of me. Really, truly, literally part of me.

And I thought, for a long, hard while: _why?_ None of it made sense. Why would _they_ do this? To me? To the others?

To the Maximum?

They'd done this to her, too. I had seen the wings, seen all their wings. Just like _mine._

I had to find them. I had to find out why all of this was real, why it was all happening. They'd broken in, let me out – surely they knew more about what was going on than I did. I, who had cleverly gotten herself caught in a dumpster.

I shoved a lock of knotted hair out of my eyes, staring at the far wall. Surely they had a clue about where this was all headed. Surely they had escaped themselves, at some point. Surely they had learned how to survive, to stay out, how to avoid _them_ and that voice.

I needed to learn, and fast.

I got kinda sleepy after that. Running around like a hungry escaped mutant can really wear you out. My surroundings basically consisted of a couple of ratty boxes, squishy old bags of half-decomposed trash, and some kind of bugs that kept wanting to crawl up my legs. The smell was so unclean – much, much better than the purified foggy stupor _they_'d kept me in. Old banana peels and moldy carpet, mmm…

I was full. I was tired. I was stuck in a closed, secure, car-sized trash can that wreaked of mucho de rottenness. I had nice, big, warm wings stuck on me.

So what did I do? Well, a nap seemed to be in order. I moved a few bags around, resettled in the pile of greasy wrappers, tucked the smelly old neon sweat-jacket under my head, wrapped my wings around myself, brushed off the bugs, and took a snooze.


	16. Chapter 16

**Waking Up on the Wrong Side of the Dumpster**

Nap. Unwisely long nap. One that stretched into sometime distantly later, when I woke up feeling completely freaked. It took a moment to remember where I was and most of what was going on. The dirty visual aid and stale smell really helped.

Oh. Yeah. Dumpster. Wings. On the run. Freaky life outside of cage. Dark.

Dumpster _moving…_

Were they supposed to do that? I mean, it didn't seem like I should be rocking back and forth like I was. Something loud banged against the thing, practically shattering my eardrums. I lurched to my feet, slipping in rubbish as the whole dumpster tilted, throwing me up against the side.

This situation could be summed up in three easy words: What the _heck?_

I was suddenly close enough to grab the lid and shove it open. After being in the dark for so long, the sunlight burnt my retinas into little fried crisps, not unlike the wrap-things I'd eaten last night. I staggered, then lost my grip and crashed forwards as the whole thing tipped.

Trash tumbled around me like a hurricane. By the time I realized I was falling I had already landed hard. One of my wings was under me – I winced as my weight bent it the wrong way.

So now I was completely flipped around, freaked, going overload on adrenaline. _What was going on?_ I looked up for inspiration. Well, whadaya know, there was the dumpster I'd just been in. Way up there. The entire contents, including me, had been emptied by these giant metal arm-looking things into…

A room? A holding place? I looked around wildly. Where was I now? Oh, would this mad whirlwind of existence ever stop?

I managed to pull myself out of the bag of rubbish I'd impaled only to plunge forwards into a wet cardboard box. Bits of wrap wrappers (yes, I know, ha ha) skittered away from my impact.

_Ow, ow, ow,_ I thought rhythmically, digging myself out. The smell of the place was horrendous, a huge vat of rotten odors. I tried not to breathe too much. There was an opening above me, revealing more of that weird sky stuff. Lights On again.

Still, no clue. I'd been dumped out of a dumpster into… a bigger dumpster?

There was a deep groaning noise, and the opening above me started to shut.

I may not have been the smartest mutant running around the city, but I knew enough to realize that _lid closing = bad._ I yanked my leg out of the box and crunched towards the nearest wall. My wings snagged pieces of litter. No time to stop and pick it out, the thing above was already half closed.

_Come on, come on…_ my foot found something solid. I shoved against it, allowing me to somewhat clamber up the grimy wall. My fingers slid in the grunge. The lid or whatever it was continued moving, proceeding to seal me inside the chamber.

Don't get me wrong, I now knew that dumpsters were good for snacks, but I didn't really want to live in a gimundo one full-time.

In desperation, I unfolded my wings and shoved down. The burst of momentum propelled me up suddenly, awkwardly, more than I was expecting. I angled myself, sliding through the crack at the last second. The lid crashed shut right behind me. A few feathers were clipped, but most of me was out and intact when all was said and done. I stood on top of the…whatever it was, a vehicle of some sort, and looked around.

Wow. _Wow._ I'd just jumped, what, fifteen feet? More? And I hadn't really even tried. Say, these wing-things could come in handy…

I might have been more ecstatic about it if there hadn't been three guys dressed in olive-green uniforms staring up at me in shock.

'Cause you know what? Finding the shartrucey jacket had been so low on my radar that it hadn't even registered.


	17. Chapter 17

**The Taste of Escape**

So what did I do? Well, 'run' seemed like a pretty cozy option. It was what I was used to. I wonder if that will ever change.

Of course, first I had to actually _get_ _down_ from on top of the big vehicle-dumpster thingy, which was a tad harder than I expected. The guys on the ground had already seen my wings, thanks to my insensitivity about thinking to hide them, so their eyes really couldn't get much bigger when I slipped and landed much less gracefully than planned. I.e. my butt is now the shape of that piece of cement. Owie.

Why didn't I try and glide down? Because I would end up kissing the wall. I didn't know my own potential to hurt myself, and with wings…the possibilities were endless.

"Hey!" one of the men shouted, looking decidedly freaked-out.

_Wings, wings, yes I know,_ I thought. _That was pretty much my reaction the first time, too. _

I shoved myself off the ground and did what I do best – skedaddle. I don't really know what that word means, but I heard a guy use it the other day and now it was stuck in my mind. I think it's a synonym for 'run like heck'.

The three people in green jump suits were beginning to overcome their incapacity of having the known world completely change in the glimpse of a mutant – okay, so maybe not, but they regained the power to move their legs and judge directions. They started after me just as I turned the far corner –

-dumping me out onto a busy, people-chocked day-lit street. With my wings, though pulled in, fully exposed for the viewing pleasure of all.

This day was starting off on a majorly twisted foot.

_Okay, okay, think, think, think,_ I thought frenetically, trying to unfreeze my customary response to sudden crowds of strange people. _Move, move, move-_

"Gotcha!" A thick pair of arms went around my body from behind, pinning my arms and wings against me. One of the Giant Dumpster men. Emphasis on 'giant'. He was huge, three times my size, at least.

Did I scream? No.

Did I bite? Well…we mutants do that sometimes. You shouldn't trust us.

Especially when you're trying to hug us in less-than-friendly ways. Like this guy, for instance. I wasn't feeling the love. Especially when I saw the crowbar in his hand. No happy-fuzzy feelings about it. Mostly scared, panicked, pit-bull feelings.

All I can say for the man was that he needed to find himself a good Laundromat, because that suit tasted really nasty. Like, centuries of nastiness all compressed into one outfit. Uber-gross.

The chubby guy let go, of course, and I didn't stick around, of course. He was screaming and cussing and carrying on, but I didn't let that bother me too much. The bleeding would probably stop eventually.

I barreled down the street, ducking around people and various kiosks and trying to be as unobvious as a winged mutant on the run with her wings tucked in against her back. I kept thinking _don't look at me, don't look at me, please don't look at me, look at Lard-o screaming his trash guy head off back there, don't look at me…_

I spat. Several times. Lard-o tasted like major crap.


	18. Chapter 18

**Things That Go Up**

In a perfect world, there is no crime. There are no bad scientists who will kidnap, drug, and completely mess people up genetically. There are no speeding cars and cussing persons carrying packages and no morning rush-hours in large cities with crowded sidewalks.

In a perfect world, there are no policemen.

However, this is not a perfect world.

"Hey!" yelled somebody angrily.

_Sorry,_ I thought. I didn't _mean_ to knock her shopping bags all over the place - she had walked right out in front of me, and there was no way I was stopping. I got similar reactions from the man carrying the coffee. Well, now he was carrying it on his shirt. Wasn't very happy about it, either. I was learning new words by the minute.

"Hey! Hold up." Someone grabbed my shirt from behind. "What's wrong, kid? Why you running?"

I glanced back. Middle-aged man. Uniform. Gun in hand. I jerked, trying to rip my clothes from his fingers.

"Whoa, whoa, calm down. Are you ok-"

I think he was going to inquire about the condition of my health, but I had already kneed him, so I'm not sure. I managed to tear away from his grasping hands and was lost in the crowds by the time he recovered.

Around a kiosk, across a road full of honking yellow cars, right out in front of a bicycler, ignore his swearing, past a restaurant full of curious bystanders, right through a tent full of brochures, aiieee they're flying all over the place! Over a railing, around a group of street performers…my lungs were demanding that I stop and grab some oxygen, but my legs, heart, and brain were insisting I need to keep going. I kept going.

After running for what felt like forever, I turned into another alleyway, this one bigger and brighter than the first. Lardo's yells were all but gone by the time I started to slow down. I figured he'd either sucked it up or died. Either way, not my problem.

However, if he hadn't expired, he was going to be causing me some problems in the near future. He'd seen my wings. In fact, all three of them had. And quite possibly the man in the uniform as well. The people who were out looking for me would have new information to add to the search. _They_'d narrow down the area. _They_'d know I was here.

That voice would know I was nearby, getting closer…

Okay, enough happy thoughts. I leaned on the wall, taking deep breaths and forcing myself not to run any further. Running wasn't going to get me out of this one. I'd have to hide somewhere. Like, not in a dumpster. I'd have to lie low until they started to forget about me. Then…then…well, then I'd come up with something better.

Keeping my wings as out of sight as possible, I took in my surroundings more fully. I was still remembering things, and it was glorious - I pledged never to lose my mind to _them _again. However, at the moment I didn't recognize anything. Paved ground, a couple doorways, two trashcans, a string of laundry across the street. I hadn't been here before.

Then again, considering I hadn't really been anywhere before, this wasn't saying much.

I glanced down. My feet hurt and my shoes were wearing through the soles. Sitting in a cage all day just doesn't work your clothes like running for your life.

I noticed that the sunlight was throwing a shadow on the ground in front of me, above my own. I spun around, expecting someone to have somehow snuck up behind me. My heart skipped a beat when I saw it wasn't a person.

It was a ladder.

Hmmm…I was seeing options here…

The steel ladder, starting ten feet above my head and continuing all the way to the roof, was welded to the brick wall. An access ladder, not meant to be climbed by anyone other than the guy who checks the furnaces.

_Well,_ I thought, staring at it. _What else am I going to do with my life?_


	19. Chapter 19

**A Place To Stay**

It took me a little while to figure out how to reach the lowest rung. Yes, I grasp the irony too – have wings, can't fly. Yet. And I wasn't about to try, here in broad daylight, especially since my little dumpster affair now had people on my trail.

Why'd they put the bottom of the ladder ten feet off the ground? So people couldn't do exactly what I was trying to do. I thought deeply, calculating angles, and finally settled on 'take running leap and jump'. I'm just crafty like that, I guess.

The alley was only about a dozen feet wide, give or take a little. I backed as far as I could against the opposite wall, looked around to make sure no one was watching, then burst into speed. Right before I hit the wall I uncoiled everything in me and shoved up. My feet left the ground and my fingers reached, straining to grab the metal.

I came up a foot short.

Instinct was there to help. Without really thinking about it, I unfurled my wings just a little, giving me the extra momentum I needed to reach the ladder. I wrapped my arms around it, pulling myself up. I quickly yanked my wings back in and scrambled all the way up without looking back to see if anyone had witnessed my extraordinary feat.

Six stories later, I stumbled off the ladder onto a rooftop and got down low on my belly, peering back over the edge. There a man walking his dog through the alleyway below, but I don't think he saw me. I heaved a sigh of relief. I needed to get better control of myself if I was going to survive. Gotta be cool, smooth, _nonchalant…._

_WHHAAAAARRRRR..._

EGAH!!!! I squeaked and cringed as something kicked on nearby. Nothing hit me. Nothing moved. I carefully looked up when my ears had adjusted to the harsh noise.

Oh, dear, I'd done it again. Some sort of metal vent-type thing, as tall as I was and much more square. I was scared of the most pathetic things. I glared at it, and it continued shuddering away, making my teeth rattle. What an awful sound. Shoving myself off the ground, I gave it the cold shoulder and went to see what other threatening things lived on the roof.

There were a couple more vents, a pipe spitting out hot steam, and what looked like a small building with a locked door. Judging by the picture on the sign, it was the entrance to a stairway that went into the building. I tugged the handle – it was securely shut. No major worries.

Other than that…well, no railings. Nothing to keep a person from falling off the edge and onto the pavement below.

I rubbed my hands together. Excellent.

There were similar buildings all around, but none of them were any taller than this one. In the distance, really tall skyscrapers jutted into the cloudy blue sky, forming a skyline. I sat down and stared at them for a while, leaning against the little brick building with the staircase inside. A breeze whispered around my face, teasing my matted hair.

I could stay here. I needed to stay somewhere, and I was finding that I liked the open air up here better than the crowded streets below. It was much easier on my nerves when I could see the bigger picture. Felt less like I was going to be captured and bagged before I saw it coming.

I sighed, feeling the feathers brush against my back. What a weird life.


	20. Chapter 20

**Hungry Again**

So…you know what the funny thing about food is? It's not permanent.

It seemed like I'd just gorged myself on wrap-things and I was already empty again. My entire inside crumpled up and rumbled like a mountain overturning. Even though I had escaped from the bad people, I still wasn't the one in charge of me – my stomach had ultimate rule.

Which was why I was crouching in the shadows just around the corner, waiting for someone to toss out their trash. I got the impression that this was not the normal way of refueling, but it worked better than everything else I'd tried. Better one feather than none.

I shuffled my wings, drawing them in closer. I'd managed to rustle up an old sweater to replace the one I'd lost. I think someone had made it out of a rug. It sure looked like an old rug. That might have explained while it was just lying in front of somebody's doorstep. I'd pretty much taken someone's Welcome Mat.

I hoped they wouldn't mind too much. I felt a little bad about it, but in the big scheme of things it couldn't be helped. I'd never had morals before, and now was not a time to start. Not if I wanted to survive.

My stomach growled impatiently as I crouched, watching the window. I knew there were people eating in there. I'd seen them, and now I was waiting. I caught a whiff of something edible and my mouth watered. I wiped it on the sleeve, restraining myself from creeping up to peer in the window.

There was a harsh light by the door. It attracted bugs. They buzzed around, occasionally hitting the bulb and falling to the ground. I know what you're thinking, and _no,_ I was not that desperate. Yet.

My wings were shaking. I was shaking. I. Was. So. Hungry. I didn't know how much I was supposed to be eating a day, but I'm sure I wasn't even grazing the lower end of the spectrum. How did these people do it? Why would that little machine with the green bills work for them and not me? I was considering going and talking to it again. Maybe it would be more understanding tonight.

I was half-standing when the door cracked open. I froze and dropped back to the ground, praying that the darkness would hide me.

"Shut it, Frank! Just _shut up!_ I don't wanna hear it!" A loud voice made me wince. I saw a man come out, bag of trash in hand. He lifted the lid of the silver can, yelling over his shoulder. _"I_ do all the work around here! _Who_ has a job, again?! Oh_, yeah,_ that's right – ME! _Why_ did I even think to rent this apartment with such a slimeball?! _Hey! _Don't you start the game without me!" He dropped the trash, slammed the lid and hurried back into the house. The sound of the door banging shut after him made me flinch. Why were people so harsh? Maybe the world was just harsh in general. It was all I'd seen so far.

I _made_ myself wait for a while to make sure he was really gone, then slowly crept forwards. I stopped at the edge of the circle of light, biting my tongue. _Okay…okay…go!_ I darted into the light, ripped the lid off the can, grabbed the bag, put the lid back and tore off into the darkness, all in a jittery moment. The bag bounced against my leg as I ran, smelling amazing.

I didn't stop until I was back on my roof, tucked against the little brick building with the staircase inside. My stomach dragged my hands into the trash bag. Slimy, crunchy, sharp, crumpled, crinkly…I frantically dug through all the textures until I located something still lukewarm. A little container with bits of food stuck to it. Ohmanohmanohman_mmmmmm….._

I didn't know what it was, but it tasted really _really_ good, even better than the wraps. After curbing my initial hunger, I carefully sorted my catch, organizing things together. I ate every food item I found, gagging on some of the bad tastes but swallowing them anyway. Bird kids can't be choosers.

I saved the bag to use for shelter. My living place was very unprotected, open to everything. On top of an interesting variety of non-edible trash-type things, I also found an old pair of pants and…all _right!!!_ New shoes! Well…not new, but new to me. Ones without holes in them.

What a night. What a way to live. I pulled off my old holey ones, setting them to the side for later use, and pulled on the 'new' ones. They were kind of loose, but I didn't care. They didn't let water in.

I yawned, feeling…well, not full, but not so empty. Carefully gathering every piece of clutter around me, I sat and watched the skyscrapers in the distance, lit with lights. They glowed on the sky. It never really got all the way dark here.

I was up for a while, unable to fall asleep. I had had food, but I was still missing something. I didn't know what. There was some kind of emptiness, but…I'd already eaten, so there shouldn't have been, right? It was hard to understand. I wrapped my wings around me for warmth and comfort. That helped. A little. Not really.

Your world seems really lonely when a distant siren wails far-off in the night and the drifting breeze chills you to sleep.


	21. Chapter 21

**Inside**

New York. The name of the place was New York.

I found this out when I was walking down the street on my way to scavenge something to eat and I saw a little girl tug on her mother's hand and excitedly exclaim, "I _love_ The Lion King! I _love_ New York! Can we _live_ here?!"

I lived here. I'd trade her any day.

I'd come to the point where insignificant matters could no longer be ignored or pushed aside. My hair was officially the consistency of dried barf. It _crunched _whenever I laid on it. Even by my livin'-the-free-life standards, it was pretty gross.

So now I ask you - how does a person clean their head? I'd never done it before, and I was at a loss. The most logical thing seemed to be by getting it wet again, but with what? Spit? That was even grosser.

I pondered this for a while, laying on my belly on the roof of my hangout and watching people walk by below. How did they keep their hair so nice and shiny and clean? I mean, I didn't see any of 'em spitting on each others' heads, but I didn't see them doing anything else either.

My questions were answered when I saw a bus roll to a stop at the light. There was a picture on the side, a picture of some kind of spout with water coming out and the head of a happy-looking woman using something out of a bottle. Water? Or course! Water! Much better than spit.

So…where did water come from? The magical spout? And where would I find one of those?

By the end of the day I was resigned to one answer: _inside._

People went in and people went out of apartments. They stayed in them when it got dark. They came out when the sun came up. Their hair stayed clean.

I swallowed. The last time I'd been inside, it'd been in a cage and some pretty bad things had been done to me. Did I really want to risk that again? No. Did I have to? Considering that you could pretty much impale someone with pieces of my hair, the answer was a reluctant _yep._

I plotted. I schemed. I waited until the guy who lived two buildings down left his apartment when the sun went down. I'd seen him do this twice before. He went out in the evening and came back late at night. I would have a small amount of time to fix myself up before he returned. My wings could use some attention, too. They were dirty and ruffled from being cramped in my clothes all the time. And, let's face it, I didn't smell tolerable anymore.

I stared at the door from my hiding spot, watching the man leave for the evening and running through my deeply-thought-out plan over and over again in my mind:

Head. Wings. Get in, clean 'em up, get out.

As soon as the man's car veered out into traffic, I slipped out of the shadows and moseyed up to his door. The handle didn't turn. I was beginning to learn that this was a common thing with doors around here.

I nervously looked around, waiting for someone to call me out, then snuck around back and tried the window. After much straining, it slowly slid up with a squeaky moan. Yes! He hadn't locked it! I would have thought _what a sucker_, except that if he wasn't a sucker I wouldn't be getting in, so I was grateful for his sucky-ness.

Adrenalin pumping, I curled myself up and squeezed through it. It was tight, especially when it came to getting my concealed wings through, but it worked. I was inside. I was inside somebody's _home._

And it was creeping me out. I tiptoed through a dark room, careful not to touch anything. I didn't know what most of it was. My senses were razored on every step I took. I made mental notes of exits, keeping careful track of where that window was. I didn't realize I was so claustrophobic.

I stumbled down a hallway trying not to leave little dirty-bird-kid prints in the soft floor. Where, oh where, was that magical little water spout? It had to be around here somewhere…

I crept into a smaller room, helping my claustrophobia achieve new heights. Where, oh where…There it was, above the large basin-thingy. I peered at it. Okay…so where was the water? Did he run it out? Or maybe it didn't run all the time. Maybe I had to get it started.

While looking around for something to turn it on with, I saw something move. _There was someone in the room with me._

I screamed.


	22. Chapter 22

**Mirrored**

So did the other person. We both screamed at the same time. Then we stopped and stared at each other, completely frozen. Oh. My. God. How had I missed seeing her? She was _right there. _

Tensed to flee if she made even the faintest move towards me, I accessed the situation. She was just as freaked out of me as I was of her. Her eyes were the widest I'd ever seen. I don't know what she'd been doing, but her hair was sticking up at all these weird angles, like someone had combed it with a blow-torch. Her face was dirty and her clothes looked…really familiar, somehow…

"Hey," we both said, and jumped at the same time. It was kind of weird. I saw a crinkle of feathers peeping out from around her shoulders. Huh. She had wings, too? I glanced at hers and she glanced at mine.

"Who are you?" we both said, edging back from one another. I frowned, and her brow wrinkled, cracking the dirt smeared on it. Okay, I'd seen weird things before, and disturbing things, and completely freakin' wrong things, but this was quickly topping the charts. What was going on here?

I took my hand and waved it in her face. Her arm moved to wave at me. I dropped my arm back – hers fell to her side. Seriously. Messed up. Her mouth was slightly open. I reached up to feel mine, and that other girl touched her parted lips. I closed my mouth, and hers snapped shut. She copied me when I blinked, breathed, shook my head. I carefully let my wings out a little. So did she.

Hey. Knock it off. I crossed my arms. She crossed hers. This was really annoying, whoever she was. I reached out to grab her by the shirt and tell her to quit it, but when our hands touched hers was hard, cold, and flat. I couldn't reach her. There was a…wall. A wall with me in it.

I backed against the cabinets, feeling really freaked out, and the second me did so on her side of the wall. The other me was me too. I was seeing me. There was a me in the weird glass wall.

We bit our lips, looking worried. I turned and ignored her, trying to concentrate. I just wanted to get clean and get out. I didn't know what was going on with the second me in the wall and all, but dealing with other people, even myself, was just too much right now.

I groped around and found a handle. When I twisted it the water spurted out of the spout-thing in the tub, hard and loud. Giving the me in the glass-wall-thing a glance (yep, she was still there, looking pretty crusty), I pulled aside the curtain, lifted a leg and stepped into the tub, clothes and all.

My first sentiments about the new sensation were pretty profound:

_AIIIII!!!!!! HOT!! HOT!! REALLY HOT!! AIAIAIAIAIIIII!!!! _

I wrenched the handle down, doing a little dance as the boiling rivulets ran through my hairs and clothes, dissolving the crud. The liquid immediately plunged into the negatives, and I did another little jig while coaxing it back up. It took a while, but I finally managed to find a temperature that wasn't taking my skin off.

Then…._aaaahhhhhh._

I know I say this about a lot of things, but it was _amazing._ My stiff hair relaxed under the stream of hissing water. My clothes soaked it up like sponges, but I didn't care. I rubbed my arms, my face, wiping off the days of grim. The water going down the drain didn't looked drinkable unless you _like_ drinking sewage.

I helped myself to some of the stuff in the bottle in the corner, rubbing it all over me, smearing it in my now-less-crusty hair. It _foamed._ Coolio!

My shoes squished as I turned, letting the water wash the back of me. I let my wings out, careful to keep them mostly folded in the small space, and sighed as the water saturated them, washing them clean and smoothing them back into order.

I needed to get me one of these washy-thingies for my hangout on the roof. Maybe I could dig one out of a dumpster somewhere. Did people pitch this sort of thing, though? Surely it was too nice a luxury to just dump in the trash…

The me in the mirror watched me, looking immensely happy and immensely drippy. We gave each other the thumbs up, simultaneously agreeing. Water goooood….

And then a door slammed. And the me in the mirror went back to looking like a sopping, soapy version of her normal self: terrified.


	23. Chapter 23

**Runny**

Okay, so, the catch with the house I happened to be in: _it wasn't mine._ That other guy lived here and had every potential to change his plans and come back home earlier than planned. Like so.

Crud. I was supposed to be out by this point. Plan not going well.

I twisted the handles and leapt out of the tub, scattering water everywhere as I slid on the rug. I had to get out. The room suddenly seemed ten times smaller. I tried to pull my wings in to give myself more room, but they were too wet and stuck in the slits.

"Hello?" someone called, sending my heart plunging into the hundreds. That's beats per minute, and it had never gone that fast before. We were burning calories like a dieter's dream.

_Think, think…_My eyes tore around the bathroom, begging for an exit. Of course I had to pick the _only room_ with a window too small for me to fit through unless I suddenly shrank to the size of a small animal. And we mutants don't shrink in the wash. You have to run us through the dryer first.

"Who's there?" called the voice again. "Is someone in there?"

I took a step and the me in the mirror disappeared from sight as I wiped out, landing on the floor and banging various parts of me on corners. Which did nothing in the least to improve my state of mind, I assure you.

"I can hear you!" bellowed the voice, now sounding angry. "Who's in my house?!"

_Just a mutant bird child,_ I answered in thought. _A clean one._

I slid around until I managed to grab a handle and heave myself up. I was completely flipped out about being tapped in so small a space. Without thinking, I yanked the door open and bolted out into the hallway, desperate for an exit.

There was a guy. Of course there was a guy. I'd seen him and heard him. This was his house. He lived in his house. He'd come back early. My mind was making terribly simple connections. I was completely wigged-out.

I skidded to a halt to avoid running the guy over. Running him over in his own home seemed like it would be bad. One of those courtesy-code things I'm working on.

"Uhhh…" I muttered, shrinking back. Bad position, bad time.

The man had a crowbar in his hand, but he slowly lowered it when he saw me. His eyes got bigger. And rounder. And he took a step back. "Wha…?"

It took me a second to realize that he wasn't stunned because I was a kid. Nor was it the low dryness level of me and my clothing. Come to think of it, I don't believe it was the new crust-less texture of my hair that had him staring, either.

I think it may have had something to do with the mussed-up wings dripping shampoo on his nice white carpet.

Yeah. Oops.

"You…uh…_whoa…"_ he breathed. He craned his neck, trying to see my ornamental features better. My stomach cramped in a new horrible way. I felt my toes curl in my soupy shoes.

"You're…you're a…" he blubbered, looking terrified. "You have…"

"Your shirt's on fire," I shot back, then shoved past him and out into the living room. He didn't fall for it, but I hadn't expected him to. The moment I got past he was coming after me again. I pulled my wings in as much as I could and headed for the window I'd entered through.

Which he had thoughtfully shut. And locked.

I whipped around, but by now the man and his crowbar were between me and the glass sliding door at the other end of the room. I tried to dodge around him. He carefully blocked me, trying to keep me from going anywhere without having to actually touch me. His eyes were darting excitedly, trying to take me all in at once.

"You have wings," he breathed, eyes sucking at my frame, hoping to catch another glimpse of them.

"You have a butt-chin," I countered. "Point?"

"What are you?" he murmured in awe, inching closer.

"Your worst nightmare," I hissed, and, throwing out the wings he really wanted to see, I made a tearing run for the glass door.

Handles are so last-year. I crashed through that sucker with my entire weight. Glass flew everywhere. _Ouch ouch ouch…_Half-blinded, I shot across his backyard, jumped up on table, leapt over the six-foot fence, and hit the ground sprinting.

"Hey!" he yelled somewhere behind me. "Wait! Come back!"

_You're a funny fellow,_ I thought, and put the peddle to the metal, running like, well, a mutant on the run.

But a clean one. One that smelled like strawberry kiwi.


	24. Chapter 24

**Named**

By the time I had looped around and doubled back through a bunch of streets to throw anyone off my trail, I was about dry from sheer air movement. I zipped into my alley and up my ladder lickety-split, then laid out on the roof and chilled for a while, listening for the sound of that voice or the man's voice or any particular voice in general.

Nobody showed up. My heart gradually returned to its normal beating pattern. Never knew getting clean could be so exciting, now didja? I made a rule: no more going into peoples' houses. It was just too dangerous. He'd almost gotten me. I shuddered thinking about being trapped for a longer period of time. What if there had been more of them?

The evening was gray, gray, more gray, with a chance of on-and-off grayness. With the sky as your roof, you keep track of these things really well. I stared up into it, feeling like I could just fall up forever.

Again, I wished that the people who had freed me, the other kids with wings, would just suddenly come out of the clouds and take me away with them. I'd been keeping an eye out for them, and you'd think I'd see them (I mean, really, how many flying mutant children were out and about in this place called New York?).

But since that night I'd glimpsed neither head nor tail of that saving group. Maybe they'd left town. I knew _I _would. I don't even know why I was still hanging around here.

I guess it was because I knew _they_ were monitoring the ins and outs. _They_ were around – I saw _them_ occasionally, and somehow I just _knew._ I don't know how I knew, I just did. There were regular humans, and then there were feral, trained ones. I could tell the difference. And _they_, the deadly ones, were watching for me, making me feel like I was already trapped.  
I was down to one option for getting out of here.

I needed to learn how to fly.

The thought knotted my stomach in all sorts of creative ways. Or maybe that was just because I was hungry again. I reached over and wrestled a circular-shaped food-type item out of the brown bag I'd snatched off a bench. I munched on it, but it tasted stale and didn't help my insides. Definitely not hungry.

They made me like this for a reason, right? What do you do with wings? _Fly._

I stood up, shaking out the muscled folds of feather and bone. When I'd escaped from the lab they'd been dirty and gray. Now they were clean and gray, although the shades blended better. So I was truly gray. Gray like the bird in the bush. Gray like the darkening sky over me.

Setting aside the stale piece of food, I stretched my wings all the way out, feeling the night breeze catch the tips of the feathers. Up until this point they'd simply been a hindrance, something stuck to my back that everyone wanted to stare at or catch me so they could mess with. I constantly had to hide them from sight.

I moved them, flexing them all the way out. It was like having arms on your back. Big feathery arms with the potential power to get you off the ground.

Feeling completely weird, I stepped up to the teetering edge of the roof, using my wings to keep my balanced. What was I supposed to do, throw myself off and hope they worked? That seemed kinda stupid, honestly. I betcha that wasn't how those other kids learned. I stared down at the pavement, deciding to take this slowly. No need to decrease the endangered bird-kid population.

I sat down, one leg hanging over the edge, one pulled up against myself, and looked out over the rest of the city glowing in the night. I didn't close my wings. It was pleasant to have them out. The feathers lined up all nice and smooth. It felt really good, so much better than being cramped all the time.

For a while I thought about the reaction of the man in the building. He'd been completely freaked at my wings, yet I thought they were the most normal thing in the world. I kept reviewing his words in my head. After the initial shock, he'd asked who I was. Which brought to mind – who was I?

I'm me, I told myself.

_No duh,_ myself told me. _But what are they going to call you?_

No one cares. I'm not interacting with any of them anyways.

_You will be some day. _

I should hope not, I told myself. Haven't you been paying attention? They want to do things to me. Getting on a personal basis with them won't get rid of the problem that I'm different. Majorly different. Seen the wings?

_You need a name._

Can't we just stick with Me? I thought. It's easy to remember.

_Everyone's a 'me'. You need to come up with something more original. Something you'll remember. _

Okay, okay, I thought. Ummm…name…I'd never named anything before. This could turn out ugly. How about…Name? Does that work? My name is Name?

_No, not that. Something unique. Something that's _you.

I meditated on it for a while, concentrating on a tall building in the distance. I reviewed everything that had happened to me, everything I could remember and the blanks of time when I couldn't, when I'd been trapped. Drugged. Caged. Imprisoned.

And now I was free.

I stood up, rolling the word around in my head as I rolled my shoulders and watched the city.

_Free…free…free…_

A damp breeze played around my feathers, blowing the hair back from my neck, opening me up and taking me away from reality. It was a strange, excited feeling.

_Free…out…escaped…breathing room…breathe…Bree?_ Was Bree a name?

Bree? I asked myself, but I didn't have to. It just felt right. I knew it fit before I even tried it on.

Bree it is, then, I thought. I threw out my arms, my wings, my soul, letting the breeze run through me as I hung there, exposed to the city, to life itself. I could fall away and die and no one would ever know the difference. I could fall into the clouds and get out of here, away from _them,_ from all of _them._

I felt like I were hanging between this world and another, the land world and the sky world. Which one did I belong in? How would I learn?

The street loomed whole stories below, but I didn't care.

I had a name. Things just felt more right now.


	25. Chapter 25

**Wet**

Bree was a name.

Bree was me.

Bree was completely sopping wet all the way down to the bones because this eternal roof-thing called 'the sky' had been dumping nothing but buckets of water for the past two days. On end. Non-stop.

Why did I break into a house to get wet? I could have waited a day and done it risk-free. My world was now one gigantic shower with no off-switch. The thick gray clouds clogged the sky, obscuring my view of the city with their falling moisture. For all I knew half of this place, New York, had suddenly been eaten by them and no longer existed.

Huddling under the cardboard box I'd snitched from the alley had only worked for a little while. Then it soggied up and collapsed on me like a dying breath and I had to wiggle out from under it. My clothes soaked up a ton of water from the roof. They clung to me, heavy and wet, enclosing me and sticking my wings to my back.

At first I'd hated it. By now I was resigned to it. Once you're all the way saturated, you really don't care about a little more water because you can't possibly get any wetter.

Not to be ironic or anything, but this really put a damper on the situation. I wanted to fly. I wanted to learn. Ever since I'd picked a name, my life had suddenly become more important to me. Decisions mattered, and their outcomes steadily reassured me.

If I could name myself, then I could fly. If I could fly, I could find the others. If I could find the others, I'd be so much better off.

Unfortunately, they could have flown right through the city and I wouldn't have seen them in this miserable weather. There wasn't much I could do but sit there and watch the drops pour down in an endless torrent and enjoy how wet I was.

Food was more plentiful when it rained, I learned. Not as many people were out, so not as many people traded the green bills for food, and more of it ended up in my favorite dumpster a couple allies down. I liked it the best because it was easy to open and not many people were ever around. Especially in the driving rain.

Aside from short wet trips to scavenge day-old munchies, my wings and I spent most of the time wrapped in a too-small trash bag that crudely served to keep most of the streaming water off. It got light out, then dark, then light again. Sometimes I slept in fits of shivering anxiety. I was cold and steadily getting more afraid which each passing breath, although I couldn't have told you why. I hadn't heard that voice in days.

Maybe it was because I didn't know _where_ that voice was. Maybe that was why I kept watching the skies, hoping for the Maximum to come find me before that voice did.

I'd periodically take a break from my hunched position, standing and stretching and kicking water across the roof. My wings felt like wet sheets. I was never going to fly if I couldn't dry out.

Which made me really twitchy. I wanted to learn. I wanted to get out of here. I wanted to remain free. I wanted to remain Bree.

Free and Bree. Both high and far from dry.


	26. Chapter 26

**Still Wet**

Another rainy day crept around the bend. They had 'Day' and 'Night' here. Day. Night. Not Lights On, Lights Off. I learned things from watching people below. 'Cars'. 'Trucks'. 'Bicycles'. They rumbled down the street at all hours. And the rain just kept falling and falling.

It was pretty boring.

'Coffee'. 'Cell Phone'. 'Oprah Winfrey'.

I think my wings were starting to molder. On a brighter note, though, I hadn't had to sneak into anybody's house to use their shower. I still shuddered to think how close I'd come to getting caught by that man. I mean, if he'd had a weapon or something, it could have been all over.

'McDonald's'. 'Taxi'. 'United Nations'.

I'd wait until darkness fell to creep down the ladder and scamper to my favorite feeding grounds. There was this one really nice metal food box just a couple of streets down. 'Dumpster'. It sat out behind this warm building that always smelled like hot grease and coffee. It was usually pretty full, so I didn't have to risk falling all the way inside just to get something to eat. I could stand on my tip-toes and paw through the contents, retrieving anything edible and hiding it under my clothes before sneaking back to my rooftop. I tried to take different routes each time. I didn't want anyone to notice me coming and going. If the dumpsters remained closed, the food I got would be lukewarm and delightfully dry. I'd chew on my spoils, sitting on the edge of the roof in the rain and watching the people many stories below. Nobody looks up on a rainy day.

'Dream Girls'. 'USA Today'. 'Umbrella'.

'Umbrellas' were those colorful fabric bowls that people held over their heads to keep the rain off. Fabric bowls on a stick. The streets were awash with dozens and dozens and _dozens_ of these things. I thought about getting one, but I didn't know how. In all reality, I could just about fold my wings over my head to keep the water off, forming a sort of me-cave. I started doing that when I was alone on my rooftop, but I couldn't when I was around other people.

'Google'. 'Store'. 'Money'.

I'd see groups of people together on the better-lit streets. Adults and their little ones. The adults always seemed so hassled, and the little ones always seemed so happy. I'd shuffle past them with my head down during my food runs, and they'd always pull the little ones away from me. The little ones would peer at me curiously from between their parents' arms as they were herded away.

'Pontiac'. 'Family Guy'. 'Target'.

Target, Target, Target…

The day I heard that word struck a deep nerve with me. I climbed back up to my sleeping area and huddled there for the rest of the evening, ignoring my hard-earned dinner, too alone and desperately afraid to eat. I knew the lady who'd said it to her companion had been talking about one of those places where you trade those green bills ('Money') for things, but it just didn't sit right with me. It was too familiar to be comfortable. It made me think of all things I was trying to avoid, but it's hard to avoid things when your life is built on them.

_Target, target, target… _

I thought I was safe, but just because I didn't see them didn't mean they weren't out there. That voice was still around somewhere. The thought of its feral rasp turned my bones to jelly. A deep, primitive fear that rattled my feathers. I tucked my soggy wings around my soggy body, trying to make myself as small as possible as I settled in for the night. But no matter how hard I tried, I couldn't go to sleep. Some primal dread kept me aware of everything, hyperalert. Some little buried voice inside that kept saying _get out, get out, get out._ And some conscious piece of me that kept saying _I can't, I can't, I can't, not yet. _

_I can't fly. Not yet._

I lay there on my side, staring across the dark rooftop, listening to the rain hitting the puddles and unable to shake the feeling that every single one of those drops was a footstep.

That this whole thing was just a big trap.


End file.
